Posts Tagged ‘ writing ’

Rain is my second favorite scent.

I love severe weather. I think it puts us in our place as human beings. We’re too cocky of a species. We think we’ve removed ourselves from the food chain and everything that exists on the planet is for our taking. Weather does a good job of reminding us how minuscule we are.

Insanely powerful storms leave us trembling in closets or basements. Torrential downpours flood our streets and land. Straight line winds uproot giant trees and blow roofs off houses. Frigid ice storms forbid us from leaving our homes. I love it. After all, as I wrote last time, I’m a big fan of finding the magic in reality.

Rain is probably my favorite. I am a double water sign, after all. Pisces sun, Scorpio moon. Two of the most intuitive and powerful water signs. Water connects me to something else. I wish I could explain it, although if I could, you would all probably think I was insane. Perhaps I am. I’ve always felt connected to something higher. Not necessarily God, but… something.

I’m not a religious person. I’ve had a bad taste in my mouth for organized religion since I was a child. But there’s something about nature and energy that I can get behind. Severe storms always recharge me in a weird way, and they always seem to come around when I need the energy.

My world turned upside down when I finished school. I’ve been running this insane marathon and I finally finished. I’m job hunting, but I’m quickly learning that my degree means a lot less than most middle aged adults led me to believe. I feel that I no longer have a place. A purpose. I’m not depressed, I’m just a little lost. Getting back in a gym has helped a little, although I’m wildly disappointed by how much strength I’ve lost over the years. It’ll come back. It’s just hard to remember the weights that I used to be able to bench and squat and I can’t even come close to that right now.  Also my arms feel like they could just melt off my body.

I don’t really know where I’m going with this. I just stood outside and watched the storm for a few minutes and felt like writing, but I don’t really have anything specific to write about because I spend most of my days alone.  It’s not a bad thing. I’d rather have a small circle that I can depend on than countless friends that don’t care for me much. I learned that lesson awhile ago.

Anyway, listening to this storm is like listening to a lullaby for me, so I’m going to lay in bed and cuddle my dog (who is deathly afraid of thunder) and doze off. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll have something more interesting to write about.

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“Writers end up writing about their obsessions,”

Now that college is (finally) over, and I’m in that void of time where I’ve submitted countless applications and spend most of my time patiently waiting around for my phone to ring for an interview, I’ve been reading a lot.  I struggle with having a lot of free time. I like to keep busy. I actually find myself more exhausted after a day of doing nothing than when I get up at 5 am and have a fully packed schedule until 10 pm.  I’m reading a lot of books that I set aside this past semester because I was too busy reading psychology research.  My aunt gave me Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg as a graduation gift.  She knows I’m a writer who has always dreamt of publishing books, and she thought it would be a good addition to my bookshelves.

This quote actually came from one of the many prefaces, and it made me realize so many things about my writing.  Writers end up writing about their obsessions. What do I write about nine times out of ten? People.

Obsession can be a dirty word.  It can have a lot of negative context and can make it sound like you are crafting your world around something specific.  But I don’t think it always has to be that way.  To be honest, if I had the funds to travel more often, I would probably spend most of my time writing about that. But I’m a brand-spankin’-new college grad who can’t even afford to move out of my home state at the current time, so I doubt I’ll be publishing any pieces on how beautiful Bali is anytime soon.

I’m an extremely observant person. I think it was born out of naturally being the quiet girl, and as I got older and more confident in myself, I never stopped watching people. Not everyone catches my eye; there has to be something about them. It’s an energy thing. Every once in awhile I meet someone who has a truly unique vibe, and they catch my attention. I almost always end up writing about them.

My first version of my blog was almost my own version of 13 Reasons Why, where I singled people out without ever naming them (but making it glaringly obvious who I was referring to) and wrote about how they hurt me and blah blah blah. I was in a lot of pain back then and I was fairly (okay, very) immature. You think you know everything when you’re twenty, and it turns out you don’t know shit. Hell, I’m twenty-five and still don’t know shit.  But still, I was writing about people.

I’ve found old diaries, old livejournal URLs, notebooks from high school where I filled empty pages with narrative about my life, and it’s all about people.  People that I noticed. People that I wanted to be. People that I wanted to know.

I’ve always known I wouldn’t ever be a novelist because I’m not a huge fiction junkie. It’s not that I don’t read it, it’s just that it has to be pretty damn good for me to actually make it to the end. I get bored with fiction because it isn’t real. Yes, it sounds so wonderful, but in the end, it doesn’t actually exist. I’d rather try to find the magic in reality.

I fall in love with people every day. I think people are magical. I love learning all the unique quirks about the people in my life, and there are some people I could just sit and listen to them talk for hours because I think they are magnificent thinkers.

It’s really fitting that I got a degree in psychology, honestly. Even though I picked it for selfish reasons, it wound up being one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I was able to learn more about how and why people do the things they do. But that’s neither here nor there.

I have an obsession with people. I think it’s incredible how we’re all basically made up of the same core things, and yet we’re all unique individuals. So that’s what I write about. I write about my experiences meeting new people, spending time with them, things that catch my eye.  Sometimes it makes it to this blog, sometimes it’s poetry on my tumblr, sometimes it never sees the light of day.

Maybe it’s creepy. I used to feel so self-conscious about it. I remember when I published my first impression series a few summers ago, I was so nervous that the people I was writing about would think it was so weird, but they were all so flattered. That’s the thing. If you make enough of an impression on an artist that you inspire something in them, it should be taken as a compliment. That’s all I mean by it.

I’m just trying to show you all how magnificent you are.

Quit the bullshit.

I think one of the most interesting things that has happened to me as I’ve gotten older is my shift in perception. I feel like I view everything so differently than I used to. And yes, obviously some of that is just typical growing up and forming your own opinions, but it’s also a product of the things that happen to you. Nobody makes it to twenty-five without something that changed them. Mine is obvious, it’s something I’ve written countless pieces about and still makes me look at the world a little differently: my war with mental illness. I’m still getting used to living in the sunshine that only exists in a mentality that doesn’t suffer from clinical depression.

One thing that tagged along with my depression was some severe body image issues.  This has been something that’s affected me for a long time, and part of that is being female, and the other part is being a perfectionist who always wants to be the best.  Newsflash: perfect doesn’t exist.

If you’ve known me for longer than about three years, you would know that I gained some weight. Sixty pounds over the course of a year, to be exact. There are reasons this happened, but none of them matter for the purpose of what I want to talk about, or really at all. People gain weight, shit happens.  I had personally never weighed that much, and it freaked me the fuck out.  I went into denial about my weight.  I avoided scales, mirrors, and fitted clothes.  I was so ashamed that I had gained so much, and I truly began to hate my body.  This also lined up with the time that I swore off men, which shouldn’t be a shocker: I was terrified of being naked in front of someone.

I didn’t really start to lose the weight until I got to a much healthier mental state.  It took a while, and that weight lingered and some came off just naturally.  I transferred to a school with a big ass campus that made me walk exponentially more than I was used to walking, and I lost some of the weight just by walking to class.

Eventually I got to a place where I accepted myself. I let go of the demons of my past and I began to let myself start over.  I’ve lost 40 pounds since then. This isn’t really about my *transformation,* it’s just hard to get to my point without giving some background.

I bought shorts last week for the first time in… six years?

I’m not even kidding.  The funny thing is that at one point during those six years where I was refusing to wear shorts, I was the thinnest I have ever been in my life.  Not healthy whatsoever, but thin as fuck.  I remember thinking I looked so fabulous and sexy, and I look back on full body photos of myself from being unhealthily thin, and I am lanky as fuck.  The thing is, I’m not really tall enough to ever be lanky, but that’s just how thin I was.

I’ve gotten to this point where I’m so happy with myself and with my life and what is going on right now that somehow, I have managed to love my body.  It took me twenty-five years, but I did it. I’m not sure I’ve ever been authentically myself until recently, and it’s so liberating and refreshing.

I still want to be stronger.  I want to be able to run farther without stopping and be able to lift higher weights and throw harder punches. But I’m so sick of being hot in the summer from wearing jeans when everyone else is in shorts.  I’m sick of comparing my body, my athletic af, 5’9″ frame that has, what I like to call, linebacker shoulders, to the bodies of my 5’0″ friends who barely hit 110 pounds.  You know when the last time I weighed 110 was? 5th grade.

I was hardcore bullied throughout school for being so pale that I blinded people.  I’m a natural redhead, ya’ll. I’m really white. I get it. But I should still be allowed to wear shorts during a midwestern summer.  I manage to get a little tan, but I never try too hard because it usually comes after burning a few times.  So I didn’t wear shorts because I was too white, and then I didn’t wear shorts because I thought I had thunder thighs. No matter the reason, I was still sweating my ass off during summer.

It’s just bullshit.

I’ve been writing some poetry-esque stuff on my tumblr, and I wrote this thing the other day that I really connected with as it poured out of me.  It was basically about giving up bullshit, and I realized that THAT was the difference between the new and the old me.

I’m over it. All of it.

I’m a very blunt, sarcastic person who likes to poke holes in people’s logic and is a boss at Zelda and tbh, like most people, I’m really fucking weird.  Because that’s what makes us unique as individuals.  I dance, a lot.  I almost always have music playing and I’m always dancing.  I have conversations with my dog, and I’m pretty sure she knows what I’m saying.

Around March or so, maybe early April? I stopped hiding.  I started talking to people who I felt like I had something in common with. I started being more honest about who I am.  I started really getting into my workouts and appreciating the things my body is capable of.  I started loving myself unapologetically.

Fun fact: there was a point in time where I regretted my tattoos because I wasn’t sure that I could actually pull them off, and I felt like I looked stupid.  MY TATTOOS.  You know, the things that I got to mark significant events in my life and things about myself and who I am.  The fact that I have tattoos means I can pull them off.  Plain and simple.

Embrace who you are. Love your body, whether you’ve lost weight or you still want to. This isn’t about some transformation where I now love my body.  That transformation happened because I started to accept myself. Wear what you want, what makes you feel sexy, what makes you feel good. For me, that typically means wearing vans when everyone around me is wearing heels.  It doesn’t make me less feminine or beautiful. It just makes me, well, me.

Love yourself and the world will follow.  You don’t have to have it all perfectly together and know exactly what you’re doing. Embrace the unknown.  Figuring out what happens next is the fun part, because it can be whatever the fuck you want.

I thought I was out of vices to quit, turns out I had one left: bullshit.

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